Good Deeds
by alt-taj
Summary: Starter - Victor Zsasz is motivated to enact vengeance when he notices strange bruises on his companion in arms.


Victor saw the bruises around her neck, he had a penchant for seeking out damage dealt. She had tried to conceal it with three layers of cover-up but the blood had swelled forming small purple welts under her pale skin. She stormed in, refusing to make eye contact with anyone in the club. He steps were heavy and direct, but Victor could sense her wounded pride. She hesitated for a half second before taking her place at Oswald's side.

Oswald made no show of noticing her unusually demure repose; instead he went straight to business, issuing details of where to make the pick ups and who needed to be persuaded to join his noble cause of conquering Gotham. She made all the appearances of paying attention but her eyes beheld that faraway gaze, she was still trapped in that moment from the night before. She could still feel his oppressive force lingering over her shoulder. She winced at every foreign sound, instead of standing at attention, instead of poising for an attack, she cowered under an invisible weight.

This display was short but did not go unnoticed by Victor. He knew that any show of weakness would cause a fatal blow in this town. Perhaps it would have been better if she had not survived that evening. It was much more painful to watch someone in their prime brought to the lowest depths of humiliation and despair.

After a twenty minute itinerary rundown, Oswald dismissed her to go to work. She was thankful to have been given a brief reprieve where she could isolate herself from the rest of the world but Victor beckoned to her under his breath. His stance never changed. His stoicism was unnerving to some but she had always found comfort in the stability of his resolve. He did not meet her eyes but continued to stare straight ahead, always on guard, ever ready to eliminate a potential threat. "Out back in five." She blinked hard, silent show of acceptance that went unnoticed by their employer. With a sharp inhale she headed for her car, making sure to unlock the passenger side.

Victor's punctuality was welcomed; he gave a small tap on the window with his leathered knuckles. He had been conscientious enough to leave his guns concealed within his jacket. He slid into her car, still refraining from looking directly at her. "Let's get started on your runs, we'll talk on the way." She was too tired to offer opposition, but silently obeyed. Her curiosity had been dulled by the anxiety caused from the night before. She didn't care about business today, she just had to maintain her composure until tonight when she could finally release all the pent-up aggression and pain in the safety of her home.

Victor grimaced, annoyed at how easily she had accepted his company. Something was wrong, she was usually so alert, cautious and prepared - but today she acted like a wounded fawn, unable to run but slowly withdrawing herself from the outside world. It unnerved him to see her this way. He expected more from her, but was curious to know what had shattered her confidence. Usually Victor preferred silence but he compelled himself to inquire about the marks on her neck.

"What happened?" His tone took her off guard, she knew Victor to be a man of few words, his actions spoke volumes as to the dark designs within his mind. But with two words he had conveyed a calm sense of urgency within his voice. She knew better than to try and dissuade his appeal, but she was hesitant to divulge the details. Instead, she chose to mimic his minimalist dialogue - "My ex." The answer disgusted Victor. He could not reconcile the image he had of her submitting to anyone or letting them get close enough to leave a bruise. Perhaps he had misunderstood, he had to continue with his inquiry.

"Did you kill him?" Victor talked about murder with a casual indifference, as if it were an inherent part of life, but one that was bereft of severity and consequence. She was embarrassed to voice the truth, that a man had put his hands on her and still walked the streets was too painful to pour out. She offered a small shrug for her response, which elicited a quick retort from her passenger - "Want me to kill him?" His tone was direct, yet soft. He was unfamiliar with the nuances of relationships, but he was adept at the art of conflict resolution albeit through unconventional means.

Now her face had started to burn with an indignant fury, she could handle this herself - "No. I'll take care of it."

"Don't you mean him?"

"What?" she shot him a puzzled glance. "If you were going to handle the situation properly you would take care of 'him'. When you say 'it' you are stating that there is a solution to be found absolved from death. Unless of course you were referring to him as an it in order to distance yourself emotionally from the act but if that were true then he would already be dead." Victor's pragmatism caught her off guard. She had forgotten that underneath his murderous outbursts laid a steel trap mind that offered more reason than the insane gleam in his eyes would lead one to believe. She tried to argue, "It's not that easy-" He cut her short "Yes it is." This definitive logic was exactly what she wanted to avoid.

"I just want an apology" Victor flared his nostrils and scoffed. He never could understand how people could interact with one another like this. He preferred his black and white world where all the answers were found on the edge of a blade or down the barrel of a gun. Still, he had a small affinity for the girl. It was the closest he had been to feeling anything in quite some time. "Okay." his mind was already setting the plan in order.

"Okay, what?" she was still trying to process the overabundance of his speech. She never quite knew what to expect from Victor. He was always so closed off and removed from social interactions. He took orders and those in charge always made a silent prayer that he wouldn't turn it back on them. Despite his obedient role as a hired hit man, Victor was really a rogue, he did what he pleased and was prone to unpredictability. The only constant was his desire to kill; he merely took the assassin position because he wanted to have a steady supply of victims.

There was nothing personal about his kills, it wasn't even business, it was just his purpose. Some people can create beautiful works of art, or study law...Victor Zsasz had mastered the cold rhetoric required to express death and destruction all over the city. It was his passion, if he was capable of having feelings that deep.

"Okay, let's get your apology" His desire to help was met with suspicion but she reasoned that things could not possible get any worse. She motioned to the rival club that was first on Oswald's list but Victor made no show of concern. "That - can wait." Liquid fire coursed through her veins as she cut the wheel and headed toward the Saturn Hotel where an insignificant little prick had roughed her up the night before.

"Which room?" she had still not fully committed herself to exacting designs of revenge. She still wanted some semblance of control over this situation, "Don't kill him" The three words Victor hated hearing the most. As if anyone could assert authority over him, but today was different. He was trying to help someone instead of indulging his own desires. He decided traditional methods would be best but he wanted to get sincerity out of the man instead of fearful obedience. He would decide how to proceed once he was up in the room. "I won't kill him" Victor's hard unblinking gaze did not have to be questioned. Victor's word was the only one you could trust. He lacked ulterior motives and was upfront in expressing what he wanted. It was rare to see him refrain so easily, but she nodded her head in solidarity and whispered "Room 612."


End file.
